


Limerick of Love

by Turtle_ier



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: Bad Poetry, Crushes, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Limericks, M/M, Not so secret crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 15:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21394459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtle_ier/pseuds/Turtle_ier
Summary: The Jester, plagued by love, seeks advice on what to do about it. What he hasn't considered, however, is that not everyone wants to hear his woes, and that the object of his desires might be close enough to hear him...
Relationships: Jester/Leper (Darkest Dungeon)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	Limerick of Love

“His body is like a formidable tree,

One I hope desperately to climb,

But when I catch him when he’s free,

He won't even give me the time!”

Dismas sighed, sinking deeper into the plush chair, as if it would convince the other man that he was unwelcome. But the Jester, who they only knew as the nickname ‘Jingles’ continued to spout is woes in rhymes. 

“I ache each day for his soft caress,

And I’m often tempted to do it myself-

To touch the brass upon his breast,

But I long for him to do it himself!”

He knew, above all else, not to engage with Jingles when he was like this. He could go on and on for hours on end when something tickled his fancy, and it just so happened to be his turn to bear witness to it. Reynauld had walked out an hour ago, and he was fairly sure that if Dismas had followed his lead, Jingles would too. 

“How about a different pattern? 

We all know syllables aren’t for me.

Oh, woe am I, I cannot fathom,

How to understand this damn rhyme scheme!”

Finally, the Highwayman had enough of the Jester’s poetry and lute, and asked, voice sharp, “Have you tried asking the Vestal? She’s always reading shit poetry.”

Jingles looked at him, the strange eyes of his mask wide, and broke character. “Dismas!” he said, “Your looks deceive you, for you are a lot smarter than I once assumed. Thank you for the kind advice.” 

Before he could fathom a reply, Jingles was jingling away. 

“But what of his brow- indeed, what of it?

Behind his handsome mask I can’t see it,

But even his affliction,

Won’t lessen my addiction,

To his voice or his figure at all!” 

Edith might have been too polite to kick Jingles out of the medical room, with her soft-spoken voice, religious beliefs in being tolerant and welcoming, and her inability to get a word in edgewise, but Paracelsus had no such qualms. She stood in her full gear, including knife but excluding mask, right in the Jester’s face. 

“Leave,” She said. 

“Why Paracelsus, doctor of mine, I-”

“Go.”

“I appreciate how understanding you are-”

“If you don't leave, I’ll strap you to the examination table and put leeches where the sun has never seen.”

Jingles was quiet, then said, “Are you sure that they haven't seen the sun?”

Needless to say, Edith left very quickly after that, but Jingles did stay down for another hour and a half, rag stuffed in his mouth as Paracelsus discovered that he was indeed of equal colour all over. If anyone had asked him what the experience was like afterwards, the only answer he could give would be ‘interesting’.

Jingles entered the study.

“I-”

The Bounty Hunter threw a knife at him, jamming it into the door.

“Bye.”

Jingles left the study.

“If I ever had too much gall,

I would tip toe so I was tall,

And lean in quick,

Ever so slick,

And k-”

“And kill him using a brick! I like your style, strange friend.” Boudica smacked Jingles on the back, making him fall off the bench and into the dirt street. His hood made his namesake noise, and she couldn't help but laugh at him as he pulled himself back up. He didn't seem upset, however, and just sat down beside her again. 

“No, I wouldn't kill him. I can't even humour the thought of it.” Jingles broke rhyme for the first time since he’d started four hours ago, as soon as Baldwin had left on his expedition with the Occultist, Grave Robber and Man-at-Arms. Even though he’d only come back from his own trip into the catacombs a week ago, he’d itched at the urge to follow along, but it was too risky to send too many people into the unknown at once. 

The heiress had been very strict about it when their first Vestal got left behind. No one liked to talk about it. 

The expedition, which had just returned from the cove looked well, with only the Grave Robber needing immediate medical attention. Baldwin looked soaked through, his bandages were an off grey rather than their usual white, and Jingles couldn't help but sigh at the sight. He wondered what it was like to peel them off - how long it would take, how much of the skin he could taste in the process.

“You’re troubled,” She said, not considering anything else, “Tell me of what ails you.”

“I've been trying to tell someone all day.”

“Then tell me. I’m listening.”

“I’m in love.”

“Love?”

“Yes, love. Obviously, since I’m just some joker, no one is taking me seriously. All I can sing about are innuendos and euphemisms, and it goes without saying that those are true of what I want too, but I also want something _more._”

“You want romance?”

“Yes.”

“You want to take this person out to dinner?”

“Oh yes.”

“You want to grind against them until you both scream?”

“Boudica, you know all that I want in life.”

“The only way for him to know is to tell him.”

“No.”

She shrugged, “then Baldwin will never know.”

Jingles lifted his head from his hand to look at her, and squinted, “How did you know it was him? I never said it was him. It could be anyone. It could be...” He scrambled for a name, “It could be Bigby!”

“Bigby.”

“Yes!” 

“Bigby is having relations with his good friend the Hound Master.”

Defeated, he slumped, his hat letting out a defeated chime as he did, “I knew that,” he said, “I just… I didn't want to admit it, I suppose.” 

“It is Baldwin, then.”

Jingles let out a dreamy sigh, “Yes, It’s Baldwin.”

“What’s me?”

Jingles whirled around, his bells smacking Boudica in the face, and his eyes traced up the six-foot-ten figure that was the resident Leper, Baldwin. His jaw dropped, noticeable even through his cloth mask, when he caught sight of the water droplets on his chest piece, and he almost fainted when Baldwin leant forward to rest on his sword, giving Jingles a better view of his abs. 

He whimpered.

“Jingles? Are you quite alright?”

“Yes! Fine, fine. I was just talking to-” but as Jingles turned to look, he realised Boudica was gone, “Well, I _was_ talking to Boudica.” 

Baldwin considered this, and then asked, “Forgive me if it isn't my place, but may I ask what you were discussing? You looked distressed, and she seemed amused.” 

“Oh, just a silly little rhyme I was having trouble with. Nothing to be concerned about! Nothing worth, ah,” a droplet found its way to the bottom of Baldwin’s mask, and he fought the urge to lean in and lick it, “Ah. Oh! Nothing worth getting worried about!” 

“Would you like me to aid you? I may be of some use.”

“Ah. Oh. Uhm,” Jingles had no idea how to respond, and nearly jangled out of his seat, “Absolutely! I’d lo- like you to. To help me. With this rhyme, that is.” 

Baldwin made a gesture for him to start, and with a deep breath, Jingles did.

“If I ever had too much gall,

I would tip toe so I was tall,

And lean in quick,

Ever so slick,

And…”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

Sitting down on the bench next to Jingles (who had gone blank again at being so close), Baldwin seemed to consider the limerick. “Is it a hateful poem or a love poem?”

“Well,” he sounded nervous, even to himself, “Love. I was intending on love, but I suppose it could be either way.”

“And did you have anything in mind when it came to finishing it?”

Jingles felt himself go an impossible shade of red under the mask, and he stammered, “Yes,” He cleared his throat:

“If I ever had too much gall,

I would tip toe so I was tall,

And lean in quick,

Ever so slick,

And give those lips a good lick!” 

Baldwin barked a laugh, bubbling straight from his stomach in the way Jingles loved. “I rather like it as it is! You always carry so much wit.”

“Oh, thank you,” He mumbled, feeling his heart go twenty beats faster. 

“Who were you writing it for?”

And then his heart skipped a beat instead. 

Truly, he didn't know how to respond. His wide eyed and panic-stricken expression must have said something, however, because through the thin slits of Baldwin’s mask Jingles could see his eyes widen, and then smooth over into a flattered flutter. 

“Forgive me-”

“You are forgiven,” Jingles interrupted.

He chuckled, “Well then, in that case, I’ll continue.”

Slowly, like approaching a particularly scared animal, Baldwin pushed his bandaged hands over the edge of Jingles’ ruffled collar and under the thin cotton of the other man’s mask. It was difficult of Jingles to keep still, and he still found himself leaning into the other man’s touch. 

Unlike a lot of Baldwin’s skin, lips and chin were one of the few places that were unaffected by leprosy. When he first came to the hamlet he had been, but either out of pity or curiosity, Paracelsus had taken it upon herself to cure him. He was still heavily scarred, however, and Jingles was dying every single day since this whole obsession started to see what it felt like when pressed against his own. 

And when Baldwin pulled Jingles’ mask up far enough for his thin and bitten lips to be exposed to the cool air, the straw broke the camel’s back. 

He surged in and knocked his face against the brass, but was caught in strong arms as he shuffled in closer, lute forgotten behind him and uncaring of their public situation. He felt like an over excited dog, finally able to smother the one he loved most with licks and kisses, and he was so, so thankful that Baldwin took it all in stride, cupping his back and lifting him up for a better angle.

Finally, after a good few minutes, Jingles found it within himself to restrain his desires, at least for the moment. He was so, so glad for the mask, as he could feel the red flush all the way down his chest and to his hairline. 

Baldwin looked ecstatic, his mouth pulled back into a smile that melted Jingles’ heart, but then his thumb brushed a sore on the Jester’s face.

“What is this from?

“Oh. A leech.” 

“Paracelsus?”

“Yes.”

“Should I not ask why?”

“Well,” said Jingles.

“When annoying the people you know,

It’s important to give them a show.

I often forget

About their regrets,

Because to listen to rhyme is a woe!” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I'm sorry if this isn't on par with my usual work, but I had the idea for it at about 9pm and stayed up until midnight making it, hence mistakes and rushed pacing.  
If you do like it, please leave Kudos, bookmarks and comments, as they make me want to write more.


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